Mi Familia
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: *CAT* It's funny how something as innocent as Dean Martin could lead to...this.
1. Chapter 1

CATverse A/N: Don't know what the CATverse is? Go have a gander at catverse. com to find out.

A/N: This story, like much of the CATverse, has _some_ basis in reality. My father is…well, you'll see. Just know that some of the most unlikely bits are the ones that _aren't_ fiction.

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In her stocking feet, Techie pattered out of her bedroom, drowsily scrubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes and breathing in the smell of hazelnut coffee like it was the most alluring cologne ever invented. For a henchman, there was no such thing as a 'night off' or 'sleeping in', so every morning she did a fair imitation of a zombie. It was part of the reason she depended on caffeine to stay on the ball. As a matter of fact, the first time one of the Scarecrow's lairs had caught fire, she hadn't tried to save the Captain's books or Jonathan's research from the inferno: she had made a production of heroically rescuing the coffee maker.

Sleepy as she was, she didn't remember that the other girls never made coffee unless it was to entice her out of her room. All she cared about was getting to that divine brew and inhaling as much of it as quickly as possible.

In short: with her brain completely exhaustion addled, she didn't realize it was a _trap_.

Her first clue that something was horribly, horribly wrong was the fact that the Captain, Al and Jonathan all sat at the folding kitchen table, looking _far_ too chummy and in unison, glanced up at her, expressions expectant, when she entered the room.

Dark eyes narrowed and suddenly very alert, she shifted her attention from one face to another before saying with undisguised suspicion, "This feels an awful lot like an intervention. What's going on?"

Al gave Techie the once over from top to socks and smirked over her the rim of her teacup at the fact they were mismatched—one red, one black.

Techie's eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch. "Make one comparison to Harley and I cram that cup down your throat."

Captain giggled, breaking the tension. "You look so silly when you try to be intimidating."

Techie's withering glare did little to wipe the smile off her commanding officer's face. It never did.

"You got a letter," Al piped up, her tone musical and mischievous in the extreme.

Techie forgot to be irritated for a moment. "I _what_?"

"Squishykins took the liberty of opening it," Al continued, garnering a glare from 'Squishykins' that was just as ineffectual as Techie's, "you know, to make sure there weren't any toxins and things…"

"Since he's sitting here, I assume there weren't."

Jonathan chose this point to joint he conversation. Al was forgotten and he turned his attention to the sleepy faced henchgirl. "Nothing so dire, but your parcel did…_sing_."

Confusion and disbelief warred for dominance on Techie's face. _"What_?"

With a flourish, Jonathan pulled something out of his lap—a card, seemingly harmless, normal as could be. With deliberate slowness, he cracked it open.

From inside the innocent little piece of folded cardboard, Dean Martin warbled, _Hey mambo, mambo Italiano—_

The look of naked panic that crossed Techie's face gave the Scarecrow such a sense of glee he could hardly contain his maniacal laughter. The Captain and Al had promised him fireworks—which was the only reason he'd stuck around—and if the shade of chalk Techie was turning was any indication, there would indeed be quite an impressive show. With some effort, he looked at the card nonchalantly as it continued to sing. "You didn't tell me you had family in Gotham."

At first, she didn't respond and just continued staring blankly. Then, ever so slowly, tasting every letter of the words, she said, "I _don't_."

"You must," he replied, managing not to snicker. "They're having a reunion."

Her reaction was a high pitched squawk that would've made a screech owl's ears bleed. "They're **what**?!"

He smiled the smile of a cat that not only got the canary, but also the cream and the stash of tuna. "This charming little card is your invitation to a rather swanky, catered affair at the Italian-American Club—"

The Captain's voice was a cheerful chirp. "And it says you can bring friends!"

_That_ snapped Techie out of her near catatonia. "Oh, _hell no_!"

"Why not, Ops?" The Captain asked innocently.

"It's a bad idea!"

Like a five year old, Al beamed brightly. "_Why_?"

Techie goggled at her friend. "Do you want me to write an itemized _list_?"

"That'd be a start."

"Then I'm going to need a _lot_ of paper!" Techie's voice was so high in pitch that she was squeaking. "I mean, come on! It's Gotham! It's _Gotham's_ Italian-American club! The place will be absolutely _crawling_ with mobsters!"

The Captain folded her arms over her ribcage and gave her friend a disapproving look. "You should be ashamed. That's an unfair stereotype, Ops."

Techie looked at the Captain like her skull had opened up and all her marbles had escaped before her very eyes. "No it isn't!"

"Yes, it is," the Captain replied primly, bringing up her index finger to emphasize her point. "Not all Italian-Americans are involved with the mafia."

"My _father_ certainly is!"

Suddenly, the Scarecrow didn't feel much like laughing anymore. "You have mafia connections? _You_ have _mafia_ _connections_?"

Techie took a keen interest in her socks her face suddenly flushed. "I wouldn't go so far as to call them _connections_."

The Captain gave a little snort. "You've been using the 'don't make me get my father to put the hurt on you' threat as long as I've known you."

Techie's expression soured and the blush deepened. "You and your damn valid points."

"I can't help it, they just keep coming." She shrugged and then, the Captain's tone turned more serious. "You're going."

"You can't make me!" Like a petulant teenager, Techie slammed her fist down on the nearest countertop. She regretted it instantly and let out a small yelp.

"Ops, you've wanted to meet your father for years. The man went to all the trouble of tracking you down to invite you…"

"Oh yeah, and _that _is _such_ a good sign," Techie muttered, shaking out her hand, "people going to a lot of trouble to track me down. Yes, that _always_ works out _so well_."

"He's family," Al said reasonably. "What's the worst that could happen?"


	2. Chapter 2

Awkwardly, Techie tugged at the hem of her skirt and fidgeted in her seat. The back of the Frohike was roomy enough to allow her to fidget all she liked without so much as brushing the Captain's very obviously pregnant belly and she was taking full advantage of the ancient Volkswagen's size. Jonathan watched her squirming in the rearview mirror and took a little too much pleasure in it.

"Techie, relax." Captain reached out to pat her friends' hand comfortingly. "You have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not nervous." Techie jerked away from the Captain's touch automatically.

"I didn't say you were. Like Al said, how bad could it be?"

"Has Mel Brooks taught you nothing? Don't ask that." Techie's distress was obvious. "Don't _ever_ ask that. I'm wearing a dress. If that isn't a portent of doom, I don't know _what_ is. God, I think I'm going to throw up."

Al shifted in her seat so she could look back at the edgy henchgirl behind her. "Everything will be fine. You're smart and pretty."

Techie just cast her eyes to one side and crossed her arms over her chest. "Meh."

"She's right," the Captain agreed. "Even Squishy thinks so. Squishy, tell her she's smart and pretty."

Jonathan didn't respond.

"_Squishy,"_ the Captain ground out from between clenched teeth._ "Tell her she's smart and pretty._"

"Would you guys just _stop it_?" Techie snapped. "No amount of flattery is going to make me calm down, so just let it go, okay? I'm going to meet my father for the very first time. My _mafia connected_ father. No matter what you say, this is not going to go well."

The Captain fixed Techie with the steely mom-look she'd secretly been practicing in the bathroom mirror since she'd found out she was pregnant. "Techie, really, what's the worst thing that could happen? _Honestly_?"

As though she had been rehearsing the list inside her head, Techie let loose a roll of possible scenarios. "In order from least to most horrible: There could be an earthquake. We could get food poisoning from eating bad clams. The cops could raid the place. Batman could show up to arrest any number of my family members. Batman could show up to arrest _us_. Squishy could accidentally gas the place. Squishy could _intentionally_ gas the place. The Joker could crash the party. Everyone within a five mile radius could _die_!"

"None of that is going to…well, okay, those are definite _possibilities_," Al replied honestly. "We do live in Gotham, after all."

"But the odds are pretty…" The Captain made a face. "Well, no, the odds are pretty high for some of those. But we most likely won't…get food poisoning?"

"Wow, we _suck_ at reassurance," Al muttered in awe.

Techie buried her face in her hands. The Captain reached out and awkwardly rubbed her shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Really."

Techie made a squeaky, wheezy noise. "But…what if…"

"What if what?"

"What if he doesn't like me?"

"Smegface." The Captain exhaled noisily, trying not to laugh. "He'll like you."

"Are you _sure_?"

"He's your dad."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"If he doesn't like you of his own volition, we'll _make_ him like you," Al supplied helpfully. "We'll strap him down and do that _Clockwork Orange_ thing to him. You know, with the eyes and the negative stimuli?"

Techie parted her fingers and looked at her friends. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course we would." Al pegged her thumb in Jonathan's direction. "He'd probably even help with that part."

"You guys are the greatest." The Captain and Al beamed at her. "But I'm still pretty sure I'm going to throw up."

"Huh, she does look a little green…"

"Jonathan, maybe you'd better pull over."


End file.
